Author: Katie Spiers

I wake up seeing I slept through most of the day. It’s 4:38 pm. Only distant sounds of the active city can be heard. I am not like them. I do not contribute to that lively sound. The dulling light forces its way through my dark curtains in the room my mind tortures me in. I lay there, waiting for the light to go away so I can find it easier to go back to sleep. Why won’t it just go away? I pull the covers over my head and the thick sheets suffocate me. I can’t keep living this way. I should get out of bed. I should go outside. I should stop shutting people out. but where is my motivation? I have none.

How do you find motivation when your life never seems to go right? I have no idea. What’s the point of trying to get up if you’re just going to be kicked down again? Oh right. Duh. Because you’ll never experience joy if you don’t try. Right? That’s what my mother told me. Where is my mother? Could she still be at our empty home that I last saw her at? No, she’s somewhere further away now. I regret not appreciating her nagging voice when she told me how to live my life. If only I had listened to her. Would I be here? Would I be fighting to take action of simply getting out of my imprisoning bed?

After a good hour of asking questions that remain unanswered, I decide to get out of bed. I think I need a distraction. How can I be so at peace in my dreams with my eyes closed, but be at war with reality when my eyes are open? Is this the same bed? How can something hold the best and worst parts of my day? Maybe sleeping doesn’t count as part of your day, as your not in your subconscious. Maybe it only stands for the night, when days are absent through drifting thoughts that aren’t your own. Maybe it’s only meant to be a break from the day. Okay. Just do it. Don’t think about it.

Slowly lifting the sheets off my body and head, I get a breath of fresh air. Refreshing. The room doesn’t seem so dark now. I can see the light through the curtains more clearly. I pull my two feet off the bed and place them on the floor. How long has it been since I’ve felt the cold wood of my apartment under my feet? I slump my shoulders forward and let my head fall as I stand up. My legs are week, but they somehow manage to hold me up and support my weight. What’s their motivation?

I drag them behind me as I make my way to the curtains. Should I? I’m not sure if I should let the light in. Why is this something I contemplate? Just do it. Don’t think about it. I rip the heavy curtains open and an overwhelming beam of light shines on my tired face. There’s sunlight on my face. It feels warm and almost makes me smile.

My stomach growls at me. When was the last time I ate? I’m not sure if I should eat something. Why is this something I contemplate? Just do it. Just go force myself to regain some strength.

I take myself to the kitchen. Am I sure? don’t think about it. I pull out a can of soup from the piratically empty cabinets that have been unopened for at least a week, not sure what kind, but I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s something. I heat it up in the microwave and listen to to the sound. It almost sounds lively, the sound I do not contribute to. It beeps, catching me off guard. Getting a spoon, I take a bite.  There’s a no longer familiar, but comforting taste in my starving mouth. It tastes flavorful and hot, but not too hot and it almost makes me smile.

I look down at my clothes- the same sweat pants and over-sized tee shirt I’ve been wearing for probably 2 weeks. I smell. I should probably take a shower, change my clothes. I’m not sure if I want to take care of myself that much. I’m not sure if I want to be clean again. Why is this something I contemplate? Just do it. Don’t think about it and turn the water on for the first time in weeks.

I walk sluggishly to the bathroom and turn the water on. As I step in to the shower, hundreds of drops of water crash on my pale skin. Its warm- like a summer rain. I washed my hair and body, the soap smells like all the girls that I am not like typically do. It smells like flowers and lavender, a smell that is not stale as my house is, but refreshing and admirable, and it almost made me smile.

I get out of the shower and wrap a towel around my hair and body. I should probably change my clothes. Maybe it would be nice to dress up and feel pretty. But I do not feel pretty, so why would I fake it? I will just wear the same thing- sweats and a tee shirt. I open my closet and as I pull out my routined clothes, I see the blue dress hanging in the back that my mother bought me over a year ago that I said I would never wear. I drop my shirt and pull the dress out of the closet. It has white vertical stripes running down it. I don’t think about it and try it on. I walk to the mirror and look at myself. It looks nice against my porcelain skin and long black hair, and it matches my big, light blue eyes. my mother would tell me I look beautiful, and I smile.

The sun is starting to go down so I can go back to sleep now. I gaze out the window at the color changing sky. I think about it, and I decide that I will go outside. I will not sleep again, but I will stay awake and inhale the city air I used to love.

My motivation is finding joy again.

Although it’s weird to think of myself as a junior, it also feels natural, as I am the age of 17. My first week here at msa has been all the emotions, but especially joy and sadness. Last week I spent my day working outside to get a new phone (I dropped mine in a lake) and after, I spent it with my family. I was regretting my decision to leave them that night and lost sleep over the fact knowing I wouldn’t see them for another two weeks- that I wouldn’t be able to go home for another two weeks. That feels so far away now, like it was months ago.

This week has been so physically and mentally draining. I feel bad for leaving my friends and family behind, but I needed to do this and if they can’t support me, then they aren’t concerned for my best interests and if that’s the case, I shouldn’t be concerned of what they feel for me. I’ve learned that it’s okay to put yourself first, and you shouldn’t be miserable to save someone else from being miserable, because they will make new friends just like you will. But in all, this week has been a solid 7, or maybe 8.

The hardest part of being a student at msa and living on campus is what you leave behind at home. Your parents, family, friends, pets, other loved ones, and the memories you share with them.  Every year I’ve been in school, on my first day I would come home with a tired face and my mom would smile asking the typical question, “How was your first day at school?” And after I tell her about my long day, she would make me my favorite food while I watched TV. Of course, I knew I would no longer experience this tradition  before I came here, but it saddens me how quickly it is out of my life. That’s another hard part- the realization of independence and growing up. But that’s not a part of this school, it’s just a part of life this school pushed me to recognize.

If you were to ask me what my “happy place” is, It would have to be my grandma’s old house in Spanish Fork Utah. The graceful rolling hills and the rocky mountains with miscellaneous colors of green, all the colors blended together to create reassuring comfort. The sweet air was dry and cool and would effortlessly offer peace when a breeze ran through my long, shining hair. Not just the house itself, with walls of grey cobblestone and wooden planks, would give me a sense of happiness; but also the natural surroundings the house rested in.

The wooden steps from the 2nd floor descended outside where my cousins and I would sit and watch my grandmas dogs cheerfully playing in the soft grass. In the front yard, there were two great trees that stood beside each other with branches so wide and long, they piled on top of another. But once you pushed through the branches, there was a large opening  you could stand inside. I would spend passing hours inside those trees with my siblings and cousins having “meetings” about which games to play and who would be “it” first. And as I looked up the tall trees, a warm sunlight would shine through the dark leaves and rest on my face, brightening my blue eyes and the purest joy would fill my emotions.

I wish I could close my eyes and take myself to that place and time…

My happy place isn’t just a beautiful place, but a time where memories were made. Disappointingly enough, I feel that if I were to go back to my grandmas house that stood on a familiar mountain, I would not feel the joy I did all those years ago, and it would no longer be my happy place.